Deprivation
by coldcoffeestains
Summary: '"What-," she groans, her voice muffled by the pillow her face is pressed into. She pulls the blanket higher, tries to cover her ears in order to stop the banging that's been echoing through her bedroom for the past few minutes.' Prompt fill.


**A/N:** I saw this on 'castlefanficprompts' on Tumblr a few days ago and just couldn't not write anything. I altered the age suggestion a little bit, but I hope you still enjoy.

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 _ **Prompt:**_ _I threw rocks at the wrong window but I'm a little drunk and my girlfriend just dumped me so hey do you want to hang out with me? (College/Young Caskett)_

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 **Deprivation**

"What-," she groans, her voice muffled by the pillow her face is pressed into. She pulls the blanket higher, tries to cover her ears in order to stop the banging that's been echoing through her bedroom for the past few minutes. Someone thinks they're funny throwing rocks at her window in the middle of the night, probably some drunk college kids, but she came home late after working double shifts for the past week and she just wants to sleep for once. Her eyes fall to her alarm clock on the night stand next to her bed – 1:18 a.m.

"Some people actually work," she grumbles to herself when she shoves the blanket away, cold immediately creeps up her arms and bare legs. Another stone hits her window just a split second before she yanks it open.

It's not a college kid on the street disturbing her sleep, it's a man, a couple years older than her, probably in his early thirties. And still she's not less annoyed.

"What do you want?" she spats. Confusion flashes across his face when he stumbles a little – obviously drunk. (What a great night.)

"Who are you?" he yells up to her, his voice is slurring a little.

"Seriously? You just woke me up with your stupid rock throwing session," she snaps, tries to keep her voice as low as possible.

"Where is Markus?" he asks.

She is not able to see him properly, it's dark outside and she lives on the second floor. But from what she can see he is a handsome man – he is nicely built with dark hair and he wears blue jeans with a crimson v-neck sweater, no jacket despite the cold late September air. She'd feel bad for him – almost does – if it wasn't for him that she isn't sleeping right now.

"I don't know a Markus," she answers and he takes a step back in wonder, looks her street up and down. "Listen, you must have gotten the wrong address," she explains on a yawn.

"No, he lives here, I swear," the stranger quips in desperation, stumbles over his own words – and feet. Great, now she really does feel bad for him. (Thanks to her cop instincts for always having to help people.) "I was here just last month."

"I moved here two years ago."

The stranger opens his mouth just to close it again and damn, he looks miserable. "What am I gonna do now?" She's not sure if he's asking her or talking to himself and she hates herself for even contemplating to let him into her apartment to sleep on the couch.

"Hey!" Someone yells from a window above her, the male voice more than just a little angry. "Shut the fuck up or talk somewhere else!" She can't even blame him.

She stares at the man who is watching her from two stories below, teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she musters her next reaction. It goes against everything she's been thought and defies all the rules she set to herself. He doesn't look dangerous though, crestfallen and wretched, but not harmful and her gut feelings tell her he is save. And she does excel in sparring and knows how to use her gun.

"Alright," she relents on a sigh, tries to be as quiet as possible. "Apartment 2D, come on up."

He looks almost giddy when she opens the door a minute later to him. He's even more attractive from close, his clouded eyes are blue and the stubble on his chin makes him appear even more rugged.

"Thank you so so much," he gushes when he steps past her into the apartment but doesn't go any further when she closes the door. He turns around to look at her, a smile of utter relieve beaming on his face. "I'm Rick by the way," he introduces himself, the slur in his voice still prominent but he is not as drunk as she first thought, or maybe he's already getting sober.

"I'm Kate," she answers when she passes him. He follows her into the kitchen where she retrieves a bottle of water for him from the fridge. His eyes are burning holes into her back.

"Beautiful name," he says. She hands him the bottle and leads him into the living room, she indicates him to sit down on her couch. "You're beautiful, too."

"Well, imagine just how good I'd look without those bags under my eyes from not getting enough sleep," she scoffs with the roll of her eyes but a small smirk stretches across her lips when she sits on the chair across from him.

"Sorry 'bout that," he mumbles, his boyish grin sheepish. He takes a gulp from the water bottle. "Really thought Markus lived here."

"He doesn't," she states when she leans back his gaze is merely observing her and she is suddenly hyper aware of the fact that she's only dressed in shorts and an old Stanford shirt with holes on the collar – the one that always slips down her shoulders. She takes the throw blanked from the back of the chair and wraps it around her legs. Pink heat sneaks up his neck, settles in his ears and he draws his eyes back to her face. "And why didn't you just use the doorbell?"

"I didn't wanna wake the kids," he responds matter of factly. He groans and his head falls into his hands, fingers running through the tousled strands of his hair, only to make him more rumpled looking. "I'm really sorry, this is such a mess."

"I'm awake now," she starts. "Tell me what happened."

He looks at her, unsure for a moment before he nods, his hands playing with the water bottle. "There isn't really much to tell," he begins. "I came home, found my _now_ ex-girlfriend in bed with a guy that was not me, I went to a bar, had some drinks and then I wanted to crash at Markus' place... Just that I woke you instead."

"I'm sorry to hear that," she tells him and she means it.

"It's okay. It's not like I expected us to last, we wanted different things," he explains on an exhale. Her eyebrows furrow in askance and he continues without her having to voice the question.

It seems as if he really needed someone to talk to when he so easily spills his heart to a stranger at almost 2 in the morning. Yes, he is still intoxicated but he seems to sober up pretty quickly right now, his voice not as slurry anymore, his eyes on her troubled but the electric blue of his iris clear and focused.

"I want to to be happy, she just wants to have money," he discloses. He must sense the question on the tip of her tongue. "I'm a writer," he declares, his voice barely a whisper and self-conscious, eyes not quite meeting hers when he spills the words. "Uh, trying to be at least. Never published. She never really accepted that. Had that dream of money and big parties." He shakes his head.

"Who knows, maybe your time will come," she encourages and musters a smile for him. She doesn't know him, has no idea if his writing is any good, if there will ever be a book with his name written on top in the book stores.

"Yeah," he agrees halfheartedly and averts the topic. "I just hate cheating and I already had this feeling. I just didn't think she would do it on my favorite sheets." Something close to mischief shines across his face and she can't help the smirk that tugs at the corner of her lips. Even now, loopy from alcohol and devastated he is fun – she likes his humor. And there aren't a lot of people she finds entertaining at that time of the day. She can't bring herself to be mad at him for waking her anymore.

"That sucks. Now you have to get new ones."

He chuckles in amusement.

"I'm so sorry for waking you. You seem exhausted," he pardons when she can't hold back a yawn from escaping her lungs a short while later. Her eyelids grow heavier, fluttering close ever so often. His apologize is sincere, this stare on her tender filled with remorse, his voice deep and pleasant. (Yes, she definitively doesn't mind that much anymore.) "I should go. Next window I throw rocks at is probably the right."

She shakes her head in a laugh. "You can crash on my couch if you want to." He looks at her in surprise and she just shrugs her shoulders, gnaws on her bottom lip. "There are pillows and blankets on the back. I don't mind."

"You sure? I don't want to intrude," he starts and she raises her brows teasing. "Not more than I already did anyway."

"Yeah, it's okay."

She tells him good night a few moments later and retreats into her own bedroom. There is some ruffling coming from the living room while he adjusts himself on her couch before the lamp on that small table beside her sofa is being turned off, the whole apartment bathed in darkness.

* * *

She is still tired when she gets up the next morning and slips into her clothes. For a minute she wonders if last night was only a dream. But when she steps out of her bedroom there is indeed a man – Rick – sleeping on her couch. And yes, he is kind of cute – the way his face is pushed into the cushions, hair distressed, lips slightly parted.

She decides to let him rest for a few more minutes while she strolls into the kitchen, makes coffee and- well that's pretty much it, except for a few slices of toast, a little butter and some cheese that is not already rotten. She didn't plan to have someone over for breakfast and her fridge is empty. She wanted to grab a bear claw on her way to work.

She wakes him with a hand to his shoulder and the mumble of his name on her tongue, slightly shaking him out of his slumber. Confusion washes over his face when he opens his eyes and he looks stunned when he sits up, musters her from head to toe. "I am not in a holding cell, am I?" he questions and looks around her apartment before he surveys her again. Her hair is pulled back in a bun at the back of her head and she already wears her uniform.

"No," she laughs. "But I have to get to work soon and I made some coffee and toast if you want."

"So," he mentions when he totters behind her into the kitchen and sits in on of the chairs. His eyes are following her while she gets them both a cup of coffee and settles into the chair across from him. "You're a cop?" It comes out as a question.

"Obviously." His eyes begin to sparkle at that, a childish pleasure on his features as he beams at her.

"That is so cool," he bursts out. "Wow, that- Do you believe in fate because Kate, I don't know any other word to describe meeting you."

She laughs at him, open and free because he just looks so excited right now, like a little kid in a candy store. "No I don't and why?"

"Because," he buzzes. "I write mysteries."

"And that is fate... how exactly?"

He shakes his head at her, like she doesn't see the important piece to a puzzle, but he is talking in riddles and she has a problem following his train of thoughts. "You could help me," he exclaims.

"I'm just a parole officer, Rick." (Well, for now.)

They keep talking over coffee and toast. It is pleasant and he makes her laugh so hard she almost spills her coffee a few times. They don't have a particular deep or meaningful conversation but he tells her about his actress mother and how he almost burnt down the house for research once. She tells him about her work, gives away a few stories of criminals she had to arrest. It is nice but eventually she has to get going because she doesn't want to be late. Something that comes pretty close to sorrow throbs in her stomach when she shakes his hand in front of her apartment building where their ways are parting.

"Thank you again. I don't know what I would have done without you," he testifies and she ducks her head.

"You're welcome. You'll be okay now?" She wonders and looks up again, his eyes so very blue she has to catch her breath. And he stands close – very close.

"Yeah, it's gonna be fine," he gulps before he stutters the next words. "Can I see you again? Take you out?"

Her mouth opens and closes without any words coming to the surface, she is stunned. "Rick, I," she clears her throat. "I'm not sure. You've just gotten out of a relationship and I don't want to-"

She doesn't want to be a rebound. Not sure if she wants to be anything at all. She hasn't seen anyone in a very long time, work and personal struggles swallowing all of her time. She's bouncing between becoming a homicide detective sometime in the future and there is her father who just finally went into rehab and she needs to solve her mother's case- there isn't much else she has time for.

"I know, it is pretty early and you're probably right. But you're a really nice person and you really saved me last night. Let me invite you to dinner at least, as a thank you and we can see how it goes, maybe become friends or whatever we want. No pressure at all." He seems to sense her uncomfortableness because he gives her the choice to treat this as whatever she wants it to be.

And the thing is, she doesn't have many friends outside of her work and he is charming and makes her laugh and it's been so long since she had as much fun as she had with him this morning. It's probably wrong, it definitively is, but she nods her head, murmurs an _okay_ that makes his face split into a huge grin. Truth is, he does seem to be a good person for a friend... or whatever.

 **End**


End file.
